


Blood Writing

by Tsyele



Series: Journey of the Inquisition [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dalish, Gen, Solas trying to be an ass to the Dalish and not succeeding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 01:27:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3709723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsyele/pseuds/Tsyele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While out adventuring, Cassandra asks Lavellan about her tattoos, triggering the happy memory from when she got her blood writing in Clan Lavellan. When the daydream is past, Lavellan explains Cassandra the meaning of <em>vallaslin</em> and the role of Falon'Din. Of course, Solas interjects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Writing

**Author's Note:**

> Have an old, short fic I wrote, dear readers!

“Just a little longer, _da’len_. It is almost finished,” the Keeper said, as she pricked the needle on the skin below Neris’s eye, where tears pooled from the pain and strain to remain motionless.

“Yes, only a few lines separate you from adult responsibilities.” Halliwen was by her side as always, a common fixture in every important moment of Neris’s life, grinning as she said it. Something outrageous was to be uttered next. “If I were you I’d start screaming at the prospect.”

Neris was about to retort but the Keeper warned her with her eyes to remain silent before shooting Halliwen a disapproving stare. The young woman laughed.

Halliwen was at times brilliant, other times inappropriate, and always childish. It was a miracle she’d been able to sit through her blood writing and not complain, joke or otherwise shift around like she always did. She slipped behind to sit next to her father, Neris’s uncle, who was tracing the tattoos down her arm.

Working the patterns of muted purple on her right arm was Neris’s mother, trying not to chuckle at her niece. They mirrored those weaved on the left, but had a grace to them the others did not. As much talent as the Clan’s craftsman had, his adornments were exact things, carved with equal measures of strength and precision, while an artisan plied with elegance and flow. Both were beautiful, both were different.

As the three of them finished up, Neris shifted her gaze to look upon the work on her upper limbs. _Falon'Din_. Her mother had frowned at her decision, not that she had anything against the god, but she never quite enjoyed the inorganic lines of his particular _vallaslin_ , and death was not the most comfortable topic for her. Neris’s uncle Sawyl had an easier time recreating the patterns, but her mother’s hand would always produce something unique. One of the reasons Neris had asked for her to help with the ritual.

Keeper Deshanna smiled. One last prick and she gently set the needle down. “It is done,” she said.

Neris’s friend Samarion joined them as they all rose up. Halliwen moved to face her, sporting a wide smile.

“Congratulations, _lethallan_ ,” the Keeper continued, “I am proud to call you my First.”

The tears dislodged from Neris’s eyes, but now there was no pain.

  


* * *

  


Neris was lost in thought, remembering one of her fondest moments of her life with Clan Lavellan. Something had brought up that memory — a question. What was it?

_If I might ask you, what is the meaning of the marks upon your face?_

“Herald?” Cassandra looked at her, curious and impatient.

“Hmm? Oh! My _vallaslin_?” Neris jerked at the Seeker’s voice that brought her back to the present and the confusion faded as it all clicked into place. “It marks me as an adult and one of the Dalish.” She paused, realizing the next part would turn her title as Herald of Andraste quite ironic. “It’s also a symbol to honor our gods. Mine represents Falon'Din.”

Cassandra’s lips curled into a sneer. Neris relished in it: the Herald of the _shemlen_ faith, the very face of the Inquisition — a blasphemy. This was the source of her pride, her own quiet rebellion to a fate she hadn’t choose. The thing that marked as a true, real elf in a world of humans, and she would make it known to all. She didn’t even notice Solas rolling his eyes.

“Falon… din?” Cassandra tentatively rolled the syllables off her tongue, the smallest hint of mockery in her inflection.

“Yes, the Friend of the Dead,” Neris said, “In ancient Elvhenan, he guided the _hahren_ when they entered _uthenera_ through the Beyond, along with his brother Dirthamen, on journeys of knowledge and wisdom. As we became mortal, Falon’Din guided the souls of the dead safely beyond the Veil.”

The Seeker was confused by all the elven, exactly as Neris intended. Still, the human looked at her with a curious expression. “Uh… You said that your god guided the souls of the dead — past tense. Does that mean he no longer does?”

Neris was impressed. She hadn’t expected Cassandra to show any sort of interest in elven mythology. Save Josephine — though simply out of politeness — none in the Inquisition ever indulged her in discussing any particulars of elven culture, not even Solas. Perhaps she’d judged her too quickly. Perhaps there wasn’t so much need to be defensive. Since arriving to the Inquisition, Neris had always been on the defensive.

“Y—yes… like your Maker, umm… my gods are no longer among us, though this was the result of Fen’Harel’s trickery. Now the Dalish put our kin to rest with a staff, a cedar branch and a prayer to Falon’Din to help them keep on their path.”

“Ah, I see… I’m not very familiar with elven mythology.”

“If I understand correctly,” Solas interjected before Neris was able respond, “In this rite of passage it is the _da’len_ who chooses her _vallaslin_ , is it not?”

When the pause made it apparent that Solas wasn’t asking a rhetorical question, Neris tentatively confirmed him, trying to understand his angle.

“Is there any particular reason for you to have chosen Falon’Din?”

 _Ah, there it is._ Solas was a sly man. She knew this to be a challenge, to both her and Dalish thinking. Neris didn’t know why, but underneath the veneer of politeness and propriety was a disdain for her culture that had irked her since the day she decided to ask his opinion regarding the plight of the elves.

“Though many don’t think it to be so, in Falon’Din’s tale death isn’t an end, but a new beginning,” Neris said. It was minimal and easily missed, but Solas’s expression betrayed him for a fraction of a moment, and she’d noticed it. This was not what he expected. “I chose his _vallaslin_ because, like him, I wanted to guide my people to a new, better future, leading them through a journey of enlightenment, all the while honoring the history and sacrifices of the past.”

Neris had never explained her reasoning, not to her mother, not to her Keeper. Usually, a prospective First would choose Mythal, the Protector, or Dirthamen, the Keeper of Secrets, or even Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper. They’d regarded her choice as a curious thing, a quirk of her character, but never questioned it because it was private. It saddened to think she didn’t tell them because hers was not how the usual interpretation of Falon’Din’s role used to go. She wanted to teach it to her Clan when she replaced Deshanna, but then it hit her she would not likely ever return to her people. She sighed before continuing. “I thought it appropriate for a Keeper, but now that I’m no longer my Clan, it all seems silly and pointless…”

“Lavellan, I—” Solas started, slightly apologetic, before shifting back to his usual neutrality, “You should not think that way. I think it is a remarkable interpretation of your lore.”

Cassandra assented. “Indeed, it’s actually quite fitting for your role in the Inquisition.”

Neris mulled over the Seeker’s statement. Perhaps the meaning was not lost after all.


End file.
